by C. J. Cooke
A minute later Vanessa comes into view, all beaming smiles in a navy skirt suit. I notice that she freezes as soon as she claps eyes on Superintendent Caliz.
‘Hello everyone,’ she says, quickly gathering her composure. She leans over and whispers in my ear. ‘I have something for you.’ Reaching into her briefcase she pulls out a slightly scruffy white teddy with a satin collar stained with blood, as though he’s been garrotted. Saskia’s Jack-Jack. There is something new on his collar, too, a little love heart tag that Saskia must have put on him recently. I draw a sharp breath and clutch Jack-Jack to me, breathing in the faint scent of Saskia that still clings to his fur. I’m trying so hard not to break down in front of everyone but I feel frantic.
‘One of the soldiers brought him to me earlier,’ she says. ‘One of Saskia’s toys, yes? I thought you might like to take it to her.’
An officious-looking man with a silver quiff and a sharp black suit follows behind her. Vanessa introduces him as Jim Kierznowski, the British High Commissioner. I watch as he shakes hands firmly with the police officers before turning to me and slapping a large square palm painfully on my shoulder.
‘I’m deeply sorry to hear about what’s happened,’ he says. ‘I know Vanessa is working very hard to ensure that you and your family can get home as swiftly as possible.’
I nod and thank him but inside I’m screaming. How can I even think about going back to England? Saskia is seventy miles away and Michael is missing. Every second that he’s gone makes me think I’ll never see either of them again, and it is terrifying.
‘Shall we watch the footage you captured, Zelma?’ Dr Gupta says, and Zelma manoeuvres the old PC monitor at the edge of a desk so that it faces us all. She brings up a new browser and points at some green digits at the side of the frame.
‘This footage is from two days ago,’ Zelma says, clicking play. Immediately I can see that the camera is angled downward at a fire exit.
‘This is at an exit at the side of the hospital,’ she says quietly.
‘Which side?’ Jim asks.
‘The east side. About one hundred yards along the corridor here.’
We wait for the footage to reveal this. Finally, a figure comes into view. We all lean forward. A tall, dark-haired man with a backpack slung over his left shoulder walks slowly towards the door. He pauses at the exit, then pushes the bar at the fire door, opening the door outwards. A brief glance to his right shows that he is wearing sunglasses, his hair comes to his jaw, and he continues out of the door with a noticeable limp.
‘Do you recognise this man?’ Zelma asks me.
I squint at the screen. ‘The angle makes it difficult to tell,’ I say, and I feel Superintendent Caliz’s eyes on me.
‘Perhaps we might zoom in on the image?’ Vanessa says mildly.
The footage begins again, zoomed and pixellated, and when the figure appears again his head almost fills the screen. The man is the same height and muscular build as Michael, dark hair, a hint of beard. At the moment that the man turns his face to the right, Zelma pauses the frame.
‘Do you think that’s your husband?’ Vanessa says.
I recognise the shape of the backpack with the plastic handle on the top.
It’s Michael.
Zelma unpauses the footage, and I watch, floating out of my body, as the footage shows Michael walking through the fire exit door. Another figure appears closely behind him. Another man, stocky build, protruding belly. Black, bald-headed and dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. From the angle of the camera, it almost looks as though the man behind is pushing Michael forward.
‘Who is that?’ I say quickly. This man has my full attention. I’m back in my skin, filmed in ice, my senses razor sharp. ‘Who is he?’ I say again.
Dr Gupta and Dr Atilio share a glance. ‘We can find out.’ Zelma rewinds the footage and we watch again, studying the movements. Every gesture, every frame is weighted with significance, because there is simply no way Michael should be in any of them.
‘It does look like he’s with Michael,’ Jeannie observes, leaning forward and screwing up her face at the footage. ‘Kind of forcing him out the doors.’
‘So you think this man is your husband?’ Dr Gupta asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, too distracted by the man standing behind Michael to think about my answer. Behind me, Superintendent Caliz clears his throat.
‘Michael Pengilly was on medication, yes?’ Jim asks Dr Atilio, who nods.
‘Patient-controlled analgesia, which meant he pressed a button when he was in need of pain relief. We also gave him a mild blood thinner to prevent clotting.’
‘This could potentially have affected his mental capacities?’ Jim asks.
Dr Atilio looks doubtful. ‘I don’t think so. We monitored him closely to ensure the dosage was correct.’
‘If he was being monitored closely, as you say,’ Jeannie interrupts, her a voice a little too loud, ‘how exactly was he able to walk out of the hospital?’
‘Or be forced to walk out of the hospital,’ I say, though there’s a voice of doubt in my mind about the way Michael is leaving that door. He doesn’t look behind. He just leaves. A chill runs up my spine.
‘What’s clear is that this family has faced an extreme misfortune,’ Jim announces in a way that seems to wrap up the session. ‘A little girl’s life hangs in the balance, another child and the mother are injured, and now the father is missing. We must all work very hard to ensure he returns safely.’
As Superintendent Caliz gets to his feet I’m sure he has a smirk on his face.
16
Helen
1st September 2017
Shane arrives back at the hospital with Reuben shortly after the police leave. I am haunted by what happened earlier when we watched the footage.
Why did I tell them that it was Michael? Why did I say that? If I’d said nothing, they might have believed me when I said we were in danger. That Michael’s disappearance was proof of it. But I’ve confirmed that it was him, and the footage can be taken in such a way that he left voluntarily. Now the police have evidence, but not the sort I hoped. They have evidence that the accusation against Michael might be true. Because why else would he leave, if not to avoid being charged?
What have I done?
Reuben races into the ward shouting ‘Mum!’ and throws his arms around me. I see that his hair has been washed and he is wearing a new T-shirt and shorts, both blue, albeit with a misspelled Adidas logo, and a pair of new headphones hooked around his neck, also blue. I risk a glance at Shane – I’m unnerved by how much he reminds me of Theo – and he leans forward to give Jeannie a kiss. He looks exhausted.
‘I must have driven around the hospital eighty times,’ he says, rubbing his face. ‘Kept driving on the wrong side of the road. Got lost trying to explore a wider perimeter. Drove out into the middle of nowhere.’
‘So, no sign of him?’ Jeannie frowns, and Shane shakes his head.
‘Asked a few people too and they said they’d not seen anything.’
‘I made a Mayan village on iPix,’ Reuben says, showing me something on his iPad. ‘Malfoy helped me. He showed me how to download Optifine.’
‘Malfoy?’ I say. ‘Who’s that?’
‘He’s one of my iPix buddies,’ he says, and proceeds to tell me about the 3D Mayan village he’d designed, with jaguars and lizards and a king with a feathered crown. ‘Can I go see Dad, Mum? Shane bought me new headphones. I want Dad to try them because he always tries them before we buy them to make sure they aren’t too loud and aren’t too quiet.’
I draw breath sharply and try hard to force a smile on my face. ‘Dad’s asleep at the moment, darling. We’ll show him later, OK?’
His face sours and he murmurs a word of protest. Shane steps in. ‘Reuben’s also done some exemplary drawings on his device. Has he shown you?’
‘Not yet,’ I say, but Reuben shifts to hop from foot to foot and clicks his fingers: a stinker of a melt
down isn’t far off. He can tell we aren’t telling him the whole truth.
‘Can I see Dad when we come back from seeing Saskia?’ Reuben asks, and I falter.
‘You know, I found this amazing pizza place on TripAdvisor,’ Shane tells me enthusiastically for Reuben’s benefit. ‘It’s actually in Belize City. How about we go there after seeing Saskia? And then we can see your dad in the morning. Does that sound like a good idea to you, Reuben?’
Reuben nods reluctantly.
Afterwards, I replay the CCTV footage over and over again in my head. Maybe it wasn’t Michael. I watched that footage after enduring one of the most horrific nights of my life. I have slept only a handful of hours in over two days, I have a head injury, and my daughter has just undergone brain surgery. I am not, you might say, in the best of minds right now, so it’s likely that when I watched that footage, everything in me wanted it to be Michael. If it was him, it means he hasn’t been flung into a prison cell by the police, or hauled off by one of the van driver’s accomplices. I crave answers. I am desperate for Michael to be alright. So, it’s possible that the footage showed someone else entirely and I was just willing it be him.
And yet, there’s a part of me that says it was Michael in the footage. But the chances of anyone being able to physically walk out of the hospital right after a major car accident are slim to none. And even if he somehow was physically able, what reason would he have to leave? Neither of us have ever been to San Alvaro before. It’s a completely foreign place. Michael would have no idea where to go. And he wouldn’t just waltz out without saying something, even if only for a brief time. He would have come to see me first if there was a reason he had to leave.
It just doesn’t make any sense. None of it.
The exit they say he left by is on the other side of the hospital, close to his room. There is an exit right by my ward marked with a bright ‘fire escape’ sign. If Michael came to find me and then decided to leave, he would have no reason to go all the way back to the east side of the hospital.
Why would he go?
17
Helen
17th June 1995
Waking up beside Luke is the most incredible feeling. We’re on a single bed in a dorm filled with four other sleeping bodies, though there’s a curtain to give us a little privacy. He lies beside me on his back, his head turned slightly away, gently snoring. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. His bone structure is like one of those figures carved on ancient Greek temples. His hair is like spun gold and his skin is that shade of Bondi tan that’s bone deep. His hands look like they could hold the earth, and when they’re on my body I feel like a rare and precious stone filled with light and water and earth.
People are amazed when I tell them I’m dating someone who has an identical twin. They imagine that Luke and Theo are dressed the same, that their hair is the same, as though they’re five years old. Luke showed me some of their old school pics and I was mesmerised – they really do look like clones, two adorable little boys with white-blond hair in sailor outfits, exact copies of each other. He and Theo are so different now. Theo’s much skinnier, about an inch shorter, and his hair is long and greasy. He looks like he plays the bass in a grunge rock band. Luke, on the other hand, looks like he’s been carved by Michelangelo, with floppy gold hair, sea-green eyes and a rippling six pack from all that rowing. The real difference, however, is on the inside. Luke isn’t just gorgeous because of his physical attributes. I’m not in love with him for his body, perfect as it is. It’s his personality. He’s like fire. You just can’t help but want to be around him. Though sometimes I’ll admit I get a little burnt by getting too close.
I need to pee so I try to squeeze my way out of the slim space between Luke and the wall of the dorm, but he rolls over, a heavy, muscular arm slung over my waist, trapping me. I laugh lightly, pinned to the bed. I expect him to open an eye and prove he’s awake, but he snores on, his lips puckered. I ignore the pinch of my bladder and lie there with my eyes closed.
I have always, always wanted to be loved as deeply as this. I used to see other people in relationships, their arms around each other and their smiling faces turned to each other, and my heart would drop. I never thought it would happen to me. But it has, and I won’t let go of it.
My bladder won’t hold off any longer. I manage at last to wiggle out of the bed and run on my tiptoes down the hall to the bathroom. I wash my hands. Someone’s left a small tube of toothpaste with foreign writing on it – Russian, I think – so I squeeze out a pea-sized amount and rub it over my teeth and tongue. I don’t want to have bad breath. Then I turn to the foggy mirror and try to tame my hair into sexy-bedhead instead of wild-witch-plucked-from-a-hedge.
I lick my fingertips and smooth my eyebrows, then pinch my eyelashes to give some definition to my eyes. I have such pale colouring that going without make-up is nerve-wracking. I worried that Luke might find me less attractive out here, bare-faced and frizzy-haired. But he always says I’m beautiful, I’m gorgeous, and sexy. That I have the most amazing body he’s ever seen. Every other guy I’ve dated has been such a boy in comparison; clumsy and inattentive.
I broke up with Ian last year when I found out he was addicted to porn and generally made me feel like a piece of meat. Just … gross. I could almost laugh when I think back to how much courage it took me to break up with him. I didn’t even find Ian attractive and he was boring. All he wanted to do was play his Nintendo and watch porn. But we had been going out for almost a year and deep down I worried that I wouldn’t find anyone else. I’m nearly twenty, after all. It was almost easier to convince myself that Ian was better than he was just to avoid being on my own. But I found the courage and dumped him, and a month later I met Luke. Within two weeks he told me he was in love with me, and within three weeks I found myself daydreaming about being Helen Aucoin.
When I head back to the dorm everyone’s awake and getting their bags together. The sun is rising, a long orange tail of light laid across the room. I walk over to Luke and peck him on the lips. He gives a stretch and says, ‘Morning, gorgeous.’ I feel a swell of pure joy inside.
We gear up and head out into the day, bright blue skies overhead and the mountains all around us like sleeping dragons. I’m feeling more confident about the climb today, though I know that the real challenges still lie ahead.
When Luke first asked me to come along I said no. I’m fit, yes, but climbing the Alps? I didn’t feel at all capable. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, moving his hands over my hips and kissing my neck. ‘You’re unstoppable. You’ll tackle those mountains like they’re escalators.’
I laughed and pulled away. ‘It’s a boy’s walk,’ I said. ‘You and your mates. It’ll be weird if I come.’ He pulled a sulky face and I leaned over to kiss him. ‘Seriously, Luke. What if I get mountain sickness? Or whatever it’s called. You’ll hate me and I wouldn’t like that very much.’
‘I’ll never hate you,’ he said wistfully, snapping the waistband of my leggings with a hooked finger. ‘I’ll just miss you, is all.’
I told him I had to get ready for dance rehearsals. He looked up from my bed and gave me a frown as I rifled through the pile of laundry on the floor for a clean towel.
‘What about that Ian?’ he said. ‘He still in touch with you?’
I turned and tried to read his face. ‘Ian? Funny you should mention him. He sent me a card last week. Such a moron.’
‘I thought you broke up with him last year,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘How come he’s still contacting you? Are you still sleeping with him?’
I stopped what I was doing, aghast. ‘Are you serious? No!’
But he wouldn’t make eye contact. His face darkened. He muttered something about Ian trying to worm his way back into my life and maybe I preferred him. I knelt in front of him and tried to get him to look at me.
‘Luke, I will never get back with Ian, alright? It’s just … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’
; He looked sheepish, finally raising his eyes to mine. He brushed my hair off my shoulder and gave me that look, the one no one else has ever given me, the one that seems to drink me in like something divine. I could drown in that look.
‘I don’t want to lose you, that’s all,’ he said. ‘What if you decide I’m not worth your time when I’m away?’
‘You know that won’t happen …’
He dropped his head into his hands. I could see I was tormenting him. And what was so wrong with me going? I knew his brother Theo. I got on with him and I sensed that Theo liked me.
‘Maybe I could come,’ I started to say, and he looked up quickly, a big grin on his face. ‘But only if you promise to be nice …’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ he was shouting, climbing on to my bed and bouncing up and down on the mattress with his arms in the air.
‘Keep it down, you two!’ my flatmate shouted grumpily from the other room, thumping the wall. ‘Not when I’m at home, remember? Jeez!’
‘And I’ll need climbing gear,’ I said to Luke, suddenly wary. ‘I don’t even think I’ll be able to get any this late in the day.’
He pulled me in for a kiss. ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll buy it for you. I’ll buy everything.’
I laughed and pulled away, glancing at the clock. ‘We can sort that out later. Now, I really do have to go,’ I said, finding a damp towel slung over the back of my chair. ‘I’ll see you later, OK?’
He gave me a come hither look. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Rehearsals, sorry.’
He snatched the bag from my hand, tossed it into a corner. Pulled me in for a long, knee-jellifying kiss. ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said.
18
Michael
2nd September 2017